


Don't Dream It's Over

by TheTinKicker



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:01:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTinKicker/pseuds/TheTinKicker
Summary: An old flame comes back into Constable George Crabtree's life.
Relationships: George Crabtree & William Murdoch, Margaret Brackenreid/Thomas Brackenreid, Nina Bloom/George Crabtree, Thomas Brackenreid & George Crabtree, Thomas Brackenreid & Original Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Blooming

George Crabtree of the Toronto Constabulary sat behind his desk in the bullpen of Station House Four. He exhaled and scratched his head. The desk belonging to Constable Higgins-Newsome directly opposite him was vacant and therefore Crabtree had the space to himself to work on a personal matter more privately. There was a fresh page in the typewriter and all it had was two words. "Crabtree's Angel". Was it worthy, he wondered. Perhaps he should wait until he'd finished the manuscript before giving it a title.

The plot was relatively straightforward in his mind. A Constable living in Toronto helps solve a scheme by the local Sicilian Mafia to fix horse races, allowing their bookmakers to profit considerably. In the process of the investigation the Constable, the protagonist, falls for one of the horse trainers who happens to be the daughter of the Mafia Don, leading to bending of the rules on both sides of the law. It allowed for plenty of romance, heartbreak and drama. The inclusion of crime into the story didn't sit so well with Detective William Murdoch when George brought it to his attention in a moment of enthusiasm.

"Organised Crime as a source of entertainment? Combined with romance and police corruption?" he asked with his eyebrow raised in scepticism. "George, I highly doubt such a premise would gain much traction either in literature or moving pictures."

"On the contrary, sir; I believe it would astound people the world over. Just picture it!" Crabtree exclaimed, stepping further into the Detective's office. There was a complicated mathematical equation on the blackboard to his left and George fought the urge to draw his attention towards it, knowing he wouldn't be able to solve it anyway.

"Just imagine for a moment," Crabtree continued with a raised hand, stepping closer to the Detective's desk. "People come to the boss looking for help and he agrees without hesitation and the audience believes he's a good man until the actions of his family say otherwise. It would give the common man great insight into the workings of crime families such as Sicilian Mafia."

"I don't think so George," Murdoch replied sternly, sitting upright with his hands clasped on the surface of his desk, visibly unmoved. "I believe it would only motivate the citizenry to commit more crimes and exploit the disadvantaged. As far as I'm concerned, the world is sufficiently dangerous as it is. I'm sure you have some important work to be doing, Constable?"

"Yes, sir," George replied, momentarily deflated but not demoralised. One thing he'd learnt from reviews of his previous work by critics was that people were entitled to their own opinions. He just sat back down at his lonesome desk and thought of a title but "Crabtree's Angel" had been the best he could come up with. The idea was that in the story; the Mafia daughter's love for the protagonist would grow so strong that she'd name her finest horse after him.

Was it a good idea to use his real name, though? Crabtree knew it wouldn't sit well with his superior, Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. George glanced over his shoulder at the windows surrounding the Inspector's office. The red hair and moustache, glasses and dark waistcoat were unmistakable. Crabtree noticed a fresh bottle of scotch on the desk and figured Mrs Brackenreid wouldn't be visiting the station that afternoon. The Inspector may have been tough when necessary but there was no doubt who actually ran the show at the Brackenreid household.

He could hear footsteps coming from his left, in the general direction of the entrance but George didn't pay much attention at first. It could've been Dr Julia Ogden paying her husband Detective Murdoch a visit. Then he realised she'd likely be too busy with her surgical duties at the hospital. Constable Henry Higgins-Newsome was in Mimico on a retreat with the Newsome family, including George's own romantic partner Effie Newsome. Neither would be back for another few days at least.

The last thing he needed was the infamous Jean Hamilton parking herself by his desk yet again to inform him of what she saw as the latest example of depravity in the city. George reckoned it would be little harm glancing to his left to make sure it wasn't a citizen with a serious problem. His eyes then widened when he saw the white gloves clasped in front of her waist, her dark purple outfit and the breathtakingly gorgeous face he never thought he'd see again, unless he'd subscribed to Parisian newspapers.

"George," she said softly, her voice on the verge of breaking from relief. He was still a Constable at Station House Four and sat at the same desk as he had when she last saw him more than two years prior.

"Nina Bloom," he mumbled back in disbelief, looking up at her.  
#  
Was he seeing things? Had he accidentally ingested a substance used for autopsies by Violet Hart, the city coroner? George thought there had to be something wrong with his brain if he was seeing Nina Bloom again. He'd met her while she was a dancer at the nearby club and fell madly in love, occasionally intimidated by her passions. A night spent with Nina in her dressing room had even caused the normally punctual Crabtree to be late. However, Miss Bloom then decided to pursue her dreams of dancing in Paris as opposed to a future with him and Crabtree respected her choice, despite his heart shattering like glass.

Now she was back.

"Why?" he asked out loud all of a sudden. His voice was less of a mumble and more of a venting of frustration which felt like it was in the making ever since her departure. He was with Effie Newsome now but that didn't completely erase the heartache that Nina had left in her wake.

"George, I understand why you'd be upset," Nina smiled nervously, before reaching for Constable Higgins-Newsome's chair and pulling it over. She firmly sat at the corner of Crabtree's desk. "I should've sent a telegram before travelling and I realise that."

"I mean, why are you here at all?"

"My brother Sam is still here," she said, partially confused. "You still run the garage business with him. You didn't think I may come back to Toronto at some point?"

Crabtree rolled his eyeballs and glanced at the ceiling momentarily. "I'm obviously not making myself clear enough," he sighed before focusing back on Nina, looking into the dark brown eyes he'd sorely missed. "Has a crime been committed nearby that you're aware of?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

"Have you witnessed something you're concerned about and feel the need to report to the Constabulary?"

"No," she shrugged, unsure of where George was going.

"Therefore the question still stands, Miss Bloom. Why are you here? Why are you in Station House Four wanting to talk to me? I'm very busy as of late and I'd appreciate it if no one wasted my time."

"Miss Bloom? You're not calling me Nina anymore?" she asked, a tear forming at the corner of her eye. "I came here to see you, to see if you were interested in us being a couple. Paris didn't work out so I'm returning to Toronto permanently. Clearly you don't feel the same way and that it's my own time I'm wasting."

"What did you expect...Miss Bloom? You think you can just waltz back into the station and expect me to take you back into my life? You've already left me twice and I'm not just going to allow you to do it a third time just to get some enjoyment out of it."

"George," she sniffled, frantically reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. "I r-really l-love.."

"Please don't go there," George sighed, closing his eyes and raising a hand.

Nina paused and kept her eyes on George before wiping the tear from her eye. She nodded to herself. "You've found someone else, haven't you?"

"In two years, is that really so shocking? I know I'm not the best looker in all of Toronto but the world doesn't stop for anyone. You can either swim or sink and I chose to move forward. Yes, I have found someone and I'm quite happy, so if you'll excuse me."

Nina looked down at her lap, contemplating her choices and looked around the station. George Crabtree was comfortable right where he was in his life and clearly didn't need her back. Things hadn't gone according to plan, it seemed.

"For the record; I think you're extremely handsome, George," she whispered.

She was about to get to her feet when the door to the Inspector's door opened. Nina turned to see Brackenreid himself standing there and removing his glasses, recognising her instantly. She wasn't an enemy to the police but was familiar, having briefly been suspected of murder at one point.

"Stay right where you are, Miss Bloom," he nodded firmly before turning to Crabtree and his tone became far more strict as it always did with his Constables.

"Crabtree, a word," he said sternly and held the door open.

Nina watched as Crabtree sighed, gave her a glance of resentment and got up. The door closed behind the two men and Brackenreid lowered the blinds so all that could be seen were shadows amongst the reflection of the afternoon sun. The mumbling on the other side was unintelligible but Nina Bloom sighed to herself, knowing that so far she was bringing Constable George Crabtree nothing but trouble.

#  
Inspector Thomas Brackenreid lowered the blinds to make sure Nina Bloom couldn't make out what he and Constable Crabtree would be saying to one another. He then stepped up closer to George and stared mercilessly at him for five seconds before sighing with a grunt.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, man?" he then mumbled quietly but just loud enough for Crabtree to hear him.

"Sir?" George asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You've got possibly the most beautiful girl you've ever had, no offence to Miss Newsome of course, and you're just turning her away?"

"Sir, it's not that simple. She left me not just once but twice and I just don't see why I should give her the time of day when no crime has been committed," George replied. He didn't dare tell the Inspector that his love-life was none of his business. Nina was in the Station House and anything occurring inside the station was the Inspector's direct responsibility.

"Oh pish-posh!" Brackenreid scoffed in his Yorkshire accent, which had been unaffected by long-term residence in Canada. "I can't even count on my bloody fingers how many times Margaret nearly walked out on me and we were able to patch things up!"

"Mrs Brackenreid?"

The Inspector nodded verbally. As protective as he was of his private life, he was surprised that Crabtree was largely unaware of the more recent tensions between himself and Margaret Brackenreid. There was one time when he became violent with Crabtree after an argument with Margaret over his drinking and during cocaine withdrawal. Brackenreid subsequently apologised and they'd moved on. "While my eldest John was in hospital with the prospect of never walking again, Margaret wanted to push for a divorce until she realised what was important in life."

"Sir, I want to stay faithful to Effie."

"Look, just talk to Miss Bloom!" Brackenreid said, glancing down and checking his timekeeper. "It's thirty minutes past one in the afternoon. Consider this your lunch-break. Take Bloom for some tea and talk about something, even the bloody weather if you have to! You're feeling a bit down as of late because Miss Newsome is over in Mimico and you weren't invited to the Newsome get-together, I've been in the force long enough to tell."

Crabtree sighed and looked away, not needing to tell the Inspector that he was right.

"It's an opportunity, bugger-lugs," Brackenreid said, placing a hand on a slightly uncomfortable Crabtree's shoulder. "Let it not go to waste. Off with you!"

The Inspector allowed Crabtree back out the door but held it open half an inch so he could hear George's words.

"Miss Bloom, allow me to apologise for my recent behaviour and I was wondering if we could go for some tea?"

"Very well," the soft and slightly uncertain reply came and Brackenreid observed his best Constable and his former flame walk towards the street outside. They looked more like two people walking alongside each other, rather than a gentleman escorting a lady.

Brackenreid stepped back to his desk and poured a fresh glass of scotch. He rolled his eyeballs. What was Crabtree thinking, still calling her 'Miss Bloom'?! That was about as cold as January in the Yorkshire Dales! He then looked at the portrait of King Edward VII in the firm centre of his wall as he threw the scotch back and felt the familiar effects.

"Apologies, Your Majesty," he thought to himself. "Youngsters! They'll never know what it truly takes!"


	2. Bullets, Shells & Torpedoes

The tea had been accompanied by buttered scones and it wasn't how Constable Crabtree thought he'd be spending his lunch-break when he left his apartment that morning. He watched as Nina spread the butter generously and openly enjoying the scone as if she hadn't eaten all day. She closed her eyes and gave a tiny moan with her mouth closed. George spun his head around, relieved that he was the only one who'd heard it. In fairness, the other customers scattered around the room were elders whose hearing couldn't be relied on.

George glanced at the street outside and let out a sigh. Nina paused briefly before swallowing and wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth. She reached out and gently touched Crabtree's hand. He looked back at her, down at their hands and then firmly into Nina's eyes.

"You may not want me romantically but you can always talk to me as a friend," she said with a warm smirk. Nina Bloom always brought a fresh glow with her whenever Crabtree saw her. Regardless of what the city of Toronto could throw at him - be it arresting drunkards or assisting in the apprehension of murderers - Nina always alleviated any stress just by being there.

"I've just had a lot on my mind lately," Crabtree shrugged.

"George, being a policeman means you have a lot on your mind all the time. Has something happened recently?"

Crabtree said nothing, he opened his mouth but firmly closed it again. It just didn't feel right at that very moment. She'd been gone for two years and her departure was hard enough to adjust to. Who could he talk to? Effie? She was on a retreat with the Newsome family whose reputation was as fragile as glass. If word had gotten out that they were in fact broke, all hell would ensue. Henry Higgins-Newsome was allowed to attend as he'd married into the family. A Newsome bringing someone they were merely courting would've been damaging to the family image as the retreat involved a gathering with other families from the one percent. Reputation meant everything.

"Where is this lady-friend of yours?" Nina then asked. "I presume you spend your lunch-breaks with her typically?"

"Yes, usually. She's with family at the moment and I couldn't get the time off."

"I didn't see Henry when I visited, I take it he and Ruth eloped?"

Crabtree nodded before turning his attention to the street outside again. Being on patrol felt more appealing at that very moment. A constant lookout for a potential crime or wanted criminal came across as more natural. George Crabtree had his relationships which ended with him being heartbroken, but he never expected the woman to come back appearing remorseful and desiring a reunion.

"You didn't stick around for the wedding," he then said, keeping his eyes on the street.

"I had my own life to think about and my future. Paris was the top priority."

"Above all else," he then mumbled with a tilt of the head.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it's supposed to mean, Miss Bloom," Crabtree said, turning to face her. "We've had our tea and some scones so if you've nothing else to say?"

It became what Crabtree considered a 'contest of staring'. He was waiting for Nina to say something and a few seconds then turned into what felt like half a minute. She exhaled before fixing her gloves, and she didn't dare take her eyes off of George. He could read frustration in her eyes. A voyage from Paris, even if it was mostly to visit her brother Sam, still felt partially wasted.

"My pursuit of my dream really upsets you that much, does it?" she then asked with a glare.

"It's not that. I still don't understand why you're back permanently. Did Paris suddenly stop working out or something?"

"Things change. Life can be unpredictable. You know that."

"Unpredictable for some."

Nina raised an eyebrow. Had it been deliberate, George wondered. Did she know the entire time what it was which had been bothering him? The bottom line was that she had him cornered with her dark brown eyes. The hostility behind them had died as suddenly as it had flared up.

"Life at the Constabulary isn't what you'd hoped it would be?" she asked, before pointing to her head. "This isn't just for resting my hat, George."

#

A knock was heard on the outside of Inspector Brackenreid's office door. He lowered his newspaper and removed his glasses. His visitor was hesitant and therefore it couldn't be Mrs Brackenreid. Margaret had the habit of barging in unannounced either with the latest gossip that he would pretend to listen to or an attempt to catch him drinking. Whether or not she was still a member of the infamous Temperance League was still debatable.

"Come in!" he called, standing up and fixing his waistcoat behind his desk in the event of it being a superior. The current Chief Constable kept a remarkably low profile, compared to his predecessors. It wasn't him, however. The man standing in the doorway was certainly a familiar face but it was Thomas Brackenreid's first time seeing him in Canada. The fine suit with a dark top hat was certainly an exquisite change from the army uniform.

"Gordy!" he exclaimed with a pleasant kind of surprise written all over his face. He immediately stepped around his desk to give his old friend a handshake. "What the bloody hell brings you out here to Toronto?!"

Gordon Paisley smirked before it turned to an open chuckle and they decided a handshake was rather underwhelming for the two of them and they gave a quick embrace to one another. Paisley was an MP in London, with his constituency being Buckinghamshire. A staunch supporter of the monarchy, Paisley did not hesitate in signing up to fight for Her Majesty in Afghanistan. That was when he met a younger Thomas Brackenreid.

"How long as it been, Thomas? Or should I say Inspector?" he asked as they sat opposite each other.

"Tommy and Gordy, it's been like that since '78 if I remember correctly?" Brackenreid replied as he poured two fresh glasses of scotch and they toasted to everlasting friendship.

"Indeed. I hope you don't mind me dropping in without leaving a telegram at the very least. I just couldn't resist seeing the look on your face. Similar to when I surprised you while on leave with those two dancers? In the opium den? If our commander had caught us..."

The two veterans chuckled and Brackenreid gave a rapid glance out of his office windows to make sure no one was becoming curious about his visitor. His Constables knew better and Detective Murdoch was once more drawn to his own blackboard. Brackenreid felt wise to leave the Detective to his own devices when necessary.

"I was rather eager to take a holiday away from all the political ramblings in the House of Commons and wanted to explore the colonies. At first I thought of Ireland but nationalism there has been growing so fierce as of late. They ought to be reminded of where their true place lies if you ask me. So anyway, I chose Canada and only arrived today in from Ottawa."

"Continuing all the way to Victoria?"

Paisley scoffed and shook his head. "I'd love to say I had all the time in the world for such endeavours but Toronto will be as far as I'll be taking it I'm afraid. Duty waits for no man and I can hear London calling already. I thought I'd visit my old friend Tommy and see how he was getting on keeping His Majesty's people safe."

"I know this seems rather inferior to politics but..."

"On the contrary!" Paisley firmly but politely interrupted with a raised hand. "The depravity of the modern cities knows no bounds these days and we need honest, hard-working and dedicated men of the law more than ever. You're a fine example of all three, Tommy. Don't ever doubt that," he said reassuringly and downed the remainder of his scotch.

"Now, I was rather hoping to finally meet that delightful wife of yours. Magdalena?"

"Margaret," Brackenreid said with a nod. He had a brief mental debate as to whether he should be offended by the mistake. Paisley had never met Margaret and they hadn't seen each other for three decades but Thomas had been hoping after correspondences by mail that such details would be remembered. Photographs of the Brackenreid and Paisley families had been exchanged with letters over the years to make the gap feel that bit closer. To no avail, it appeared at that moment.

"We'd love to have you over for dinner this evening if it's not too much trouble," Brackenreid then suggested, hoping it would disguise his emotional deflation. "Margaret would be chuffed to meet yourself and Mrs Paisley."

#

"The Wright Brothers? I've heard of them but news from across the pond tends to be sketchy," Nina Bloom admitted with her arm around Crabtree's. He was still in uniform but still had a few minutes left on the lunch-time generously given by Inspector Brackenreid.

"The world is changing, Miss Bloom and I want to move with it. I see flying crafts, or aviation as it's technically known, as the way of the future and an opportunity for great investment," George replied, with any hostility towards Nina having faded. The confines of the tea house turned out to be unsuitable and the enjoyment of a fine afternoon with company felt perfect in his mind.

"Great investment? That's it? You don't wish to operate a flying craft?" Nina asked with a tilted head.

"Perhaps, once they become affordable. There has to be enough to go around first. It's just like with automobiles. It took the salaries of myself, as well as Higgins and Jackson to purchase one."

"You've never taken me for a drive in a car!" she gasped with sudden excitement.

"Well," George groaned. "We did have to bring it to the station because it became evidence in a 'hit-and-walk' case. An intoxicated gentleman ran over a corpse on the street and abandoned his car. We got it back but it broke down before it could become useful. I find walking more refreshing as well as stimulating for the creative mind."

"Speaking of the late Constable Jackson, I've thought about visiting his grave and wondered if you'd like to come with me," Nina said, fighting back emotions with her mind going back to that terrible period. Detective Murdoch had been framed for murdering her friend by the same person who then had Crabtree, Higgins and Jackson gunned down but only two made it out alive. The climax came with a knife being held to Bloom's throat and a standoff ensued before the corrupt forces were put where they belonged.

"Of course, I visit as much as I can. Particularly on the anniversary of his demise," George replied. "I miss him terribly."

"I just asked because, well..." Nina said, hesitant. "Never mind, it's idiotic."

"It's alright, Nina, you can tell me."

He was calling her Nina again! Her heart began to flutter intensely and she clenched her fist instead of placing it on her chest. She was still uncertain as to how George would react but decided to get it out into the open regardless. If he could suddenly warm up to her again then anything was possible, she reckoned.

"Well, a few days ago I ended up having a dream that I stayed, we married and had our first child; a boy. We named him Jackson - Jackson George Crabtree."

"I thought you didn't want a family, you told me that just before we parted ways, remember?"

"Yes, but like I said, life can be unpredictable. People can change, as can their attitudes. If that dream happened for real, would you have approved of the name?"

Crabtree ran the name through his head and approved with a smirk and a nod. The entrance to Station House Four came into view around the corner and George had a job to get back to. He turned and looked into Nina's eyes. There were sparkles and she gave an innocent smile.

"I really enjoyed this. Perhaps you could join me on your break tomorrow?"

George gave it some thought. Effie and Henry would still be in Mimico with the Newsomes so he'd have no one else to spend it with. Did that make Nina Bloom a last resort? He could always work more on his new book, but to risk Brackenreid or Murdoch peering over his shoulder while walking past? The Inspector was more likely to make a mockery while Murdoch would just shake his head with disapproval.

Then there was Nina's smile, how could one ignore it?

"I would like that very much," he smiled back. The temptation was admittedly there to lean forward and taste Nina's warm lips once more. However, he was still Effie Newsome's man and knew he had to respect that and remain loyal to her.

Nina could read his mind seemingly and planted a kiss on Crabtree's cheek. She then watched as they grew rosy and he bit his lower lip. She always thought George never fully grew up and she wanted it to stay that way. She then fought the natural temptation to keep holding him and allowed him to return to his desk.

#

She made a one-eighty and counted the lamp-posts before she saw the hand holding the cigar around the corner. The man was standing in an alleyway and was right in the spot they had agreed to meet. She took a deep breath and entered the alleyway. He grabbed her by the arm and Nina's back bore the brunt of the impact with the hardened brick wall. She couldn't understand the aggression! She'd done precisely as she'd been instructed and yet she was being thrown like a rag-doll.

She wanted to keep her eyes closed but she couldn't ignore the burning cinders from the cigar. He was holding it a mere two inches from her face and all it would take was a single jab to permanently alter her appearance, which always made her dear Constable Crabtree illuminate. One hand held the cigar and the other firmly gripped her shoulder, the sharp fingers digging in and adding physical pain to the psychological stress.

"I did what you asked," she whimpered.

"Oh no, you've only just started, darling," he sneered, lowering the cigar. "Has that imbecilic Constable bought your story?"

"He's not an idiot," she trembled, shaking her head and shutting her eyes.

"He'd have to be in order to believe you actually still care for him! Now, is he meeting you tomorrow again or not?"

She sighed, keeping her eyes closed and nodded. "So what am I supposed to say to him?"

"Just talk to him and keep him under a false sense of security. Leave the rest up to me. Same time tomorrow?"

She nodded again before her eyes widened. He was walking away and she needed to know!

"What are you going to do to him?!" she cried out.

He paused, turned around and stepped up to her once more. She could feel his ashy breath invading her nostrils and she wanted to retch. He took another puff of his cigar and tutted like an exasperated teacher.

"I myself won't be doing a thing, don't worry. And if you follow me into the street I will publicly label you as a whore. We've already agreed as to what will happen to your brother Samuel as well as his business if you fail me, intentionally or not. You'll be just another Jane Doe for the coroner to work on, with no one there to give a damn or identify you. Samuel Bloom and George Crabtree surely won't because they'll be right there beside you. Those that cared about them will go on knowing you were responsible. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal," she whispered and watched him disappear around the corner, rejoining the clueless public. She then found a shadow over an abandoned doorstep and let herself sink to the ground as tears streamed down her cheeks. Nina Bloom covered her mouth and began sobbing, the sound masked by the chatter from the crowds outside.

#

Dinner at the Brackenreids felt more like an anticlimax. There was the pleasant greeting but Margaret was disappointed about Mrs Paisley still being in London. Their youngest had come down poorly and needed at least one parent there. Margaret decided to hide her true feelings until after Paisley would return to his hotel. She nodded and smiled politely at the compliments towards her cooking with a minor glare at Thomas for neglecting to take any notice of the quality of his evening dinners.

Margaret cleared the plates and left them to soak in the sink before returning to see the raising of glasses. She rolled her eyeballs and settled back into her seat. She felt that she would've been a fool to think it was going to be an alcohol-free meal.

"Long live the King!" Brackenreid said proudly, with his glass raised.

Paisley nodded as they downed their scotch before sighing. "Not much longer I'm afraid. Word around Westminster is that His Majesty has come down poorly as of late. His lungs aren't doing him any favours and he's on a downward slope health-wise."

"Oh?" Brackenreid said passively, reaching for the bottle again and seeing a more intense glare from Mrs Brackenreid in the corner of his eye.

"You know, the funny thing is; these doctors or whatever they call themselves these days are saying that it could be as a result of smoking. There you have it! Smoking can damage one's health apparently," Paisley said, before breaking into a chuckle, which was shared by Brackenreid.

Mrs Margaret Brackenreid chose to maintain the position of a spectator over the conversation between old friends. As she'd expected, the MP from London began discussing politics and his visions of the future. The more he talked, the more she became tempted to reach for the scotch bottle herself.

"No respectable empire or monarchy would risk a war on such a scale, surely!" Brackenreid scoffed as the conversation progressed.

"The Kaiser is ambitious, I'll grant him that," Paisley nodded, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped. He was behaving as if he were discussing matters with a fellow MP rather than an old friend. "However, he is being rather foolish stepping on His Majesty's toes in the colonies. At the same time, our two nations are expanding our naval fleets' Dreadnoughts. My own fear, although one could consider it reality, is that war will break out across the European continent within the next five to six years."

"Impossible! Britain, Russia and France signed a triple entente not that long ago right here in Toronto," the Inspector said.

"As did Germany, Austria-Hungary and Italy. Two nations warring is bad enough, but two alliances? Serbia has demonstrated her ambitions and the Russian Tsar can barely keep his empire together. If anyone attacked Serbia, the Tsar will undoubtedly try to show strength in defending a Slavic nation and mobilise his troops. A damaged reputation from the war with Japan and the failed revolution? Those Bolsheviks are crafty buggers, I'll give them that. They're determined enough and I've no doubt they'll achieve their ambitions, they'll probably take advantage of a European war."

Margaret kept her words to herself but she gasped with her mouth closed when the horrific image of millions of young men being slaughtered entered her head. It could easily be either one of her two sons, John and Bobby although the younger Brackenreid was currently being charged for the accidental murder of a fellow student in Hamilton.

"The King, Kaiser and Tsar are first cousins though."

"We both have children of our own, Thomas," Paisley sighed, running his finger along the rim of his glass. "Siblings or close relatives tend to squabble every now and then. Except, instead of fists and slaps, there'll be bullets, shells and torpedoes."


End file.
